


Renamed

by Thunder_the_Wolf



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Human Sacrifice, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Infant Death, Inspired by The Accidental Warlord and His Pack Series - inexplicifics, will tag as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:42:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28101855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thunder_the_Wolf/pseuds/Thunder_the_Wolf
Summary: Every year, on the first day of the Harvest, an infant is taken to an abandoned Temple in the middle of the forest. They are wrapped in the village’s finest fabrics and laid on an ancient altar, where it is said that one of the gods the village worships will come to take them away. In theory, it is done to ask for a bountiful harvest. In practice, it is well-known as a Sacrifice.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 156





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [With a Conquering Air](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23273713) by [inexplicifics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inexplicifics/pseuds/inexplicifics). 



Every year, on the first day of the Harvest, an infant is taken to an abandoned Temple in the middle of the forest. They are wrapped in the village’s finest fabrics and laid on an ancient altar, where it is said that one of the gods the village worships will come to take them away. In theory, it is done to ask for a bountiful harvest. In practice, it is well-known as a Sacrifice.

Jaskier doesn’t know why he was spared when he was born. Every mother lives in fear of the day their newborn will be snatched from their arms a few days after birth and spirited away. Those infants are never expected to be seen again. The selection is random, with the sole qualifier being that they are babies when chosen. Something about the flesh being tender or the infants being innocent. The story varied from villager to villager and by the time Jaskier was old enough to understand, he no longer cared.

The first time he was old enough to attend the Harvest Ceremony, he’d wanted to go after them Had begged his parents to let him go so he could follow them into the woods. Had wondered what awaited those babies and asked the person who took them a million questions. The job shifted hands every few Harvests, and no one ever made it past five of them. When Jaskier was old enough, he decided that was going to change.

* * *

The first time he was tapped to leave a baby in the woods, he was twelve autumns old. He sat on the altar for hours and rocked the infant, a girl this time, to sleep. She’d cried and screeched and snuggled against him for warmth and cried again. He had no clue what was wrong with her, though the smell coming from her diaper couldn’t have been very comfortable. He decided to remove it. He unwrapped it, set it aside with a disgusted whine, and ripped up his undershirt to swaddle her with.

Hopefully whatever god or goddess picked this baby would know how to change diapers. And feed babies. Because he didn’t really know how to do that either. According to the rest of the village, the gods would come at sunset. Jaskier figured he could hold her until then and maybe he’d even see which one picked her. He hoped she got to do something great, wherever she went.

“Goodbye, Słońca.” The words were wrenched from his lips but went no further than a whisper on the wind.

Names were supposedly far more dangerous than merely swaddling the infant or even feeding them. Names were expressly forbidden until after the Birthing Rounds. Any parent who named their newborn before the Sacrifice was shunned. Their family was cast aside and got the least of the Harvest, since they’d given up the least. Entire bloodlines had been wiped out for improper preparation for the Harvest.

Technically, Jaskier mused, this wasn’t a name. Names were unique in their village. Everyone got a different one. It was part of the rules. A way to show that you had survived the Harvest and been deemed special anyway. Names were given by the gods even after a child was Spared. So these were… not names so much as a way to keep the baby quiet. A way to get them to respond to him for as long as he held them in his arms. A way to make sure nothing ate them and they were clean and presentable for the gods.

* * *

Sunset came and Jaskier hid in the trees surrounding the clearing. The forest went still with anticipation. The birds had stopped singing a few minutes ago. The crickets no longer rubbed their wings together. The animals hid in trees around him. And something was definitely coming.

In the end, Jaskier couldn’t tell the others what he saw. Something struck him aside the head and when he came to, the child was gone. He literally had no idea what happened before then. And he couldn’t tell anyone who asked, either.

He managed to keep himself useful by doing the job that no one else wanted. He would be given the children that were chosen for the Harvest. They settled in his arms and he knew how to bounce them just so. They were quiet most of the way and when they weren’t, he merely popped something in their mouth. Some mushed food, a toy he’d made, or a rag soaked with water. If that didn’t work, he swaddled them or made sure they coughed up all their gas or told them a funny story, because apparently even babies can get bored.

The villagers see how careful he is with the other children, the babies who are Spared and the ones who grow up after him. There are mixed reactions. Many admire his gentleness and are eager to let him watch their children in exchange for some good his family needs or even a bit of coin. His village rarely deals in coin, especially not since his few-greats grandmother named her son before the Sacrifice to make sure he was Spared, but Jaskier was unique, they supposed. Not many wished to rear other people’s children. It’s a good excuse for his real job: keeping the newborns calm and quiet until they are taken by the gods. Not that he ever gets to see that part. He always blacks out once they’re placed on the altar and wakes to a headache.

He reaches his tenth Harvest by the time someone broaches the topic of him being rather too good with the children. The children are questioned third Harvest to make sure none of them pranced into the forest. The Sacrifice is increased to food surrounding the infants as a test. Surely a child would go for the food first? By the ninth Sacrifice, the food is left untouched by even the gods, though the child was taken. Every time, Jaskier has no answer for them and the Harvest grows more desolate.

So at twenty-two, one of the older volunteers is sent with him. She lets him hold the baby and whisper to them to keep them quiet. She doesn’t even object to the swaddling session, though she does note it rarely happened before. The food was laid out around the altar and the baby was placed at the center.

“It’s time to go.” The older volunteer insisted.

“I must see this through.”

“The gods allow no mortal to see them. It is our way. We must go.”

Jaskier dipped his head and followed slowly, looking back several times to ensure the infant remained asleep.

* * *

“He is the reason our Harvest fails.” The volunteer declared when they returned to the village. “He grows attached to the Sacrifices. Cares for them in a way none of us have ever before. It must be him. There is no other interference.”

“What say you in your defense?” The alderman asked soberly.

“I say that they are infants and I wish not to hear their screeching. I say there are bears and wolves, predators in these woods. Made by the gods, yes, but not sent by them. They’d prefer to feast on the tender flesh you all have left for them. How is that a proper Sacrifice when the gods do not get their due?!”

“They apparently haven’t already!” Someone snapped out. “And you’re the only one who hasn’t been questioned.”

“You’re the only one who could possibly anger the gods so badly that we can no longer eat!” Another cried.

“You’re the only one who could have cursed your bloodline so well, Jaskier. We always knew you to be a strange boy, but this… you know not what forces you mess with!” His mother warned.

“He will.” His father scowled. “The sun has not yet fallen from the sky. There is time to add him to the altar. Let him face judgment for the gods he has so angered.”

Jaskier’s breath hitched and he felt his knees buckle under him.

“Come, boy.” The volunteer he’d been sent with muttered quietly, yanking him up by his arms. “You’ll be able to care for that babe properly now.”

The volunteer was the only one to accompany him back to the altar. She tied his leg to the raised platform with a length of rope that had been cut for the trip. The restraint cut into his wrist and she watched his attempts to untie it before leaving. It didn’t take long for the sun to set, and like every other Harvest, he saw nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier wakes up and learns a thing or two. Or seven. A lot. He learns a lot.

Voices lilted overhead. He couldn’t hear much in his unconscious state. Were they talking? Singing? Male or female? Had one of the gods come to take their anger out on him directly?

He could bear that, he supposed, as long as they took the child into their care. The town might be suffering for his choices but the babies knew they were loved. Had been cherished. Knew warmth and human touch before they had to pass on. If that was all he could do, then sobeit.

His next drift into the vague consciousness he muddled through brought clearer voices. Deeper ones. They called him Sunshine and said he was brave to go against his gods. He wasn’t sure what that could mean. Were these not the gods he went against? Weren’t they angry with him?

The response breached the fog of his mind and settled into a warm spot somewhere that pressed all his emotions.

_Never, my boy. My brave little Sunshine. You brought us all the rest. How could we be angry?_

Warmth filled Jaskier from head to toe and, not for the first time, he wished his own parents had been nearly as kind.

He didn’t see white like he expected to when he opened his eyes. Not the white of a cloud or of a tall ceiling of the place the gods were presumed to dwell.

Instead, he saw a color that fiercely resembled a human’s skin. If that human were pale from years indoors and had stormy grey eyes and the silver hair of a village elder. Was this man a village elder? He’d heard some people didn’t agree with the Harvest practices and struck out on their own.

“Good morning, Słońca, I’m going to ask you to assess your pain so I can deal with it accordingly.”

“Okay.” Jaskier rasped out.

“Pick a number from one to ten, where ten is something the a healer can’t address.”

Jaskier thought for a bit. If he said ten, would he really mean it? He was in rather a lot of pain. Could a healer address this with the herbs they had on hand?

He tried to wiggle his toes and move his fingers. They obeyed, surprisingly enough. He tried to lift his head and felt like a boulder might have crushed it.

“Seven!” He whimpered. “I… I can move my extremities and I can talk. I suppose I could get up and walk around if not for my head feeling like a boulder rolled over it.”

“Indeed…” The stranger mused. “Well, you’re in luck. I’ve had to build up my stores for the past ten years so there should be some potions to remedy your ailments.”

“Are you a healer?” Jaskier wondered.

“I’ve certainly learned enough to qualify.” The older man snorted as he walked over to a shelf and looked at a group of labeled vials. “But no, I’m not the average healer.”

“But you’ve worked with herbs for ten years…” Jaskier croaked.

“Human herbs. Before that, I worked with whatever I could find around here.”

“Scavenger?”

“In my own house? No, lad, it’s simply not as full of life as it once was. There’s plenty of forest around here, and I am but one man to find, keep, and ground up dozens of herbs.”

“So you… what, healed other sentient creatures? Like elves?”

“If they passed through, I wouldn’t turn them away.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever met an elf. Or a dwarf.”

“How about a witcher?”

“A what?”

“Witcher. Hunts monsters, considered inhuman, surely you’ve heard the tales?”

“Heard the tales, yes… but I also heard they went extinct.”

“Extinct…” The no-so-village-elder snorted. “Well, I can tell you that’s a lie.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes, both against the dim light and at the man’s words.

“How so?” He prompted warily.

“Use your eyes, lad. What’s the difference between me and you?”

“You’re older, clearly. You’ve white hair. Likely much taller than me. You have more healing knowledge than I do.”

“I said your eyes, not your brain. Don’t think too much, lad, just look.”

“Gespa!” A young voice called. A small child toddled into the room through a heavy door that barely scraped when the child pushed. The child, a girl, wriggled through anyway. “Gespa, you said we could see him! You said! You said!”

“I said he would find you, cub, not for you to find him.”

“But he’s here!”

“Yes, he’s here. He’s also resting. Why don’t you go find your siblings and tell them that you saw him?”

“But I didn’t!”

“You didn’t?” The healer gasped playfully. “He’s right there.”

Both the healer and the child turned expectant gazes on Jaskier, who lifted his arm to wave his hand and instantly regretted it.

“Hello,” He mumbled instead.

The girl squealed and waved her arms about.

“Go find your siblings, lass.”

The little girl lunged for the ground but was caught just in time to let her feet hit the stone floor without real consequence. She shimmied back through the cracked door and disappeared from sight.

“I imagine that was quite a bit of excitement, lad.” The old healer chuckled.

“She sure seemed excited.” Jaskier mused.

“She was the seventh child in as many years.”

“Seventh… child. As in she grew up.”

“Yes.”

“You’re not a god.”

“No.”

“You’re… what’d you call them? The monster hunters?”

“Witchers.”

“But they went extinct. Or, well…”

“Into hiding.” They chorused.

“This ruined castle holds what remains of all the Witcher schools that ever existed. There weren’t many of us after the Sackings.”

“But that was… that was centuries before my lifetime. No one’s ever said a word about… about anyone living beyond the village.”

“Plenty of people live beyond your village, there’s a whole world out there, lad. This is simply part of it. Those town folks of yours think their runaways live here. The ones who refused whatever rituals your lot undergo.”

“The Harvest Sacrifice.” Jaskier mumbled. “There was a group… I’d only ever heard rumors, but not everyone was happy about the way things were back there.”

“And so they left. Some came here, some didn’t. But no one knows what lingers in these mountains… and no one ever will.”

Jaskier stifled a yawn and stretched his arms and legs forward.

“Sleep, lad.” The healer muttered. “You’ve got a nasty head injury. All those years of being knocked out come back to haunt you.”

Jaskier grumbled agreeingly and let his eyes slip shut.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier meets and talks to yet another stranger. But first, he comes to a few realizations.

When Jaskier woke for good, he felt positively wretched. He'd slept well enough for the healer's cot-bed he was on. It was soft enough that he could source the cushion used to stuff it. Oh, his body thanked whoever thought to give him such lodgings because that old board had been-. 

His deathbed. 

Because he'd ruined the Sacrifice Harvest.

Because he'd ruined the babies.

The crop had failed because of him.

The gods had shown their disfavor and it'd been traced back to him.

He'd ruined the crop. He'd ruined the town.

He'd… held the babes. Made sure they didn't cry too much. Made sure they were fed and swaddled and… well, the gods hadn't liked that. Apparently.

But they'd taken the babes anyway, hadn't they? The babes were gone by morning, so the gods must have taken them. And not given the villagers anything in return.

For _ten years_. He's shocked the town managed to scrape by as much as they had. What with him ruining the crop and all. 

Whatever strange afterlife this was, shared by a man who spoke of healing spells and a child who called him Gespa. Which wasn't any name he knew. But who was he to comment in an old man's name? 

"Rather deep in thought, for someone who's just woken." 

This voice was not Gespa's. It was the same low growly tone, but different somehow. Likely a son or nephew.

Gespa healed him, spoke to him, treated him well enough in whatever strange afterlife this was. 

"Are you like the healer?" Jaskier found himself asking. 

"Who?" 

"The man who spoke to me the first time. He had silver hair and cat's eyes. The child called him Gespa."

"Ah, that'd be Vesemir. And he'd laugh himself sick if he heard you call him a healer." 

"He didn't the first time." 

"It likely didn't register then." 

"Well, are you? Like Vesemir?" 

"You'd know if you looked at me." 

"I'd prefer not to."

"I get that a lot." Gespa's, no, _Vesemir's_ possible son admitted soberly.

That _almost_ made Jaskier want to look at him. But the younger man was a bit too busy trying to wish himself back to life. 

"Bullshit." He settled for.

"How do you know?" 

"You sound far prettier than anyone's got a right to. You and your father both." 

"My father?" 

"The healer. Vesemir." 

A startled laugh reputed from the corner the newcomer sat in and Jaskier resisted the urge to look.

Looking would make it real.

Looking would mean yesterday had happened.

That he'd ruined the babes and ruined the village and been ruined in turn. And now he was here. Wherever here was. 

"Something heavy on your mind?" Vesemir's son asked. 

"Yes." Jaskier admitted, glaring at the cracked stone ceiling high above his head. "Hoping this isn't real." 

"Well, I'd like to think I'm made of flesh and blood just like you." 

"No, not you. This. All of this. I messed up. I messed up and this is what's next. The gods have forsaken me, I suppose. So I think you're rather stuck with me. And I'd like some time to let that sink in before I get to know anyone around here." 

"Where do you think you are?" 

"An afterlife, of a sort. I figured the gods would be angry with me for spoiling their Sacrifice, but even they won't greet me." 

"What do you think I am?" 

"A dead man. Likely a son of Vesemir's. I'm guessing you and he lived a very long time ago, what with all his talk of monster-hunting witches." 

"Witch _ers_." 

"What?" 

"The monster-hunters are called witchers. And if you ever come across one, they won't take kindly to their title being butchered." 

"Well, I suppose it wouldn't matter, would it? There is no second afterlife, Son of Vesemir. No witcher could harm me any further than I've already been." 

"Eskel."

"What?" 

"My name is Eskel. And I suppose I could be considered a son of Vesemir's, but I have brothers as well, so that might get confusing once you're up and about." 

"Do I have to be? Up and about?" 

"Well, laying in this stale old room full of potions would get boring after a while. You're not even in a proper bed."

"On the contrary, this is the softest thing I've ever laid upon. And I've brushed sheep." 

"Well, you'll need food. Afterlife or not. So at the very least, I can show you where that is." 

"I suppose that would be necessary." 

"On one condition."

"Alright." 

"Look at me, Jaskier." 

The former Sacrifice debated the offer and eventually turned his head. 

The first thing he noted was Eskel's dark hair and amber eyes. Different, yet so eerily similar to Vesemir's. 

His skin was slightly more tanned, as if he'd gotten more sun than his father. He wore a spiked armored shirt with stripes to his father's flattened yet thick leather. Their pants were the same, though. And their boots. 

Their faces weren't. Not entirely. It was hard to miss the scars that had been gouged into Eskel's face, as if something had taken its claws and ran them down his cheek. It must have hurt, getting those, and Jaskier was suddenly very aware of just how the man had likely gotten to this room. 

"I was right." He found himself saying. "You're far prettier than anyone's got a right to be. And I suppose your siblings will be just the same."

Eskel snorted, eyes glittering with a dark amusement. 

"Still think you're dead?" 

"Never said I was dead. I said this was an afterlife. My stay here could be temporary." 

"Well then, we've got some people to meet before you leave." Eskel offered cheerfully, as if he knew something Jaskier didn't. Eskel glided across the room and suddenly Jaskier found the man looming over his cot. 

"Not much time, if you plan on leaving. First stop is the mess hall." 

Jaskier exhaled roughly and let his eyes meet Eskel's. Then he took the offered hand and yanked himself upright. They had all the time in the world, Jaskier mused. But he might as well get out of this room. 


End file.
